


The Scoutmaster

by M_Moonshade



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: A little bit of everything really, Angst, Earl being a goofball while saving the day, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Smut, gen - Freeform, ratings and subjects vary depending on chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Earl Harlan oneshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous:
> 
> How about Cecil forcing Earl to help him and Janice earn a badge? Maybe Cecil jokingly says 'if I seduce you can you just give Janice the badge'? And after that Earl is so distracted he's basically no help at all~ (I know that girl and boy scouts are 2 different things but i figure it could work)

"Come on. Please? For old times’ sake." Damn, it was hard to look at Cecil when he used that pout. That really shouldn’t work on a man his age.

Earl averted his eyes back to his desk, signing a few advancement requests just for the sake of giving himself something else to focus on. “It’s just a few simple fires. It’s not a big deal.”

"Not for you, maybe," Cecil said. "I buy my fire from the store like a normal person. Remember, I only even got the Arson Badge because you helped me. And now Janice needs help and I can’t give it to her and that deadbeat Steve isn’t going to be any use—" He growled at the thought of his brother-in-law.   
  
"Please, Earl? Pretty please?" 

Earl could only put up with this for so long. “Gods, Cecil, you’re going to be the end of me.” 

A triumphant grin split Cecil’s face. “Don’t worry, Earl. I’ll make it worth your while…” He raised one foot to rest on the edge of Earl’s desk and leaned forward. 

Earl swallowed. He tried to keep his eyes on his paperwork, or on Cecil’s face, but it was hard to avoid staring at the other man’s long, slender legs, or the curve of his thighs, the way the fabric pulled _just so_  to cradle the bulge in his pants. 

 _Sweet masters_.

Earl scooted closer against the desk, hiding a tent in his own shorts. “I said I’ll do it, okay? So get your feet off my desk.” 

Cecil lowered his foot again, thank the Angels that didn’t exist, with another playful pout. “All right. Spoil my fun.” 

His face cleared, the teasing replaced by a stomach-tightening sincerity. “Really, though. Thank you.” 

And then he kissed him. Just once. Just gently. Just on the cheek.

Earl couldn’t concentrate on his paperwork even after Cecil left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WeAreReadyForWar:
> 
> Oh my goodness, you're doing prompts! Um, okay, how about a Cecearl first kiss from when they were boy scouts? :3

"I’ll need a couple of volunteers for this one," said Scoutmaster Qiu. "Palmer, Harlan, come on up here." 

Earl hurried to the front of the group, Cecil lingering a bit behind. As much as he liked being the center of attention, it was… weird, having everyone’s eyes on him. 

"You boys remember CPR, right?"

Cecil’s “Right. Of course…” was nearly drowned out by Earl’s enthusiastic “Yes, sir!” 

"Excellent! Now I want the two of you to demonstrate. Walk us through it." 

Cecil’s palms started to sweat. He could kinda remember it— muscle memory and all that— but his mind went blank. What was he supposed to do? He was going to make a complete fool of himself in front of everyone!

But Earl caught his eye. Quiet. Confident. Everything was going to be okay. 

"First you have to make sure the victim is in the proper position," Earl said, gently taking Cecil’s arm and maneuvering him to lie down on the ground. "On their back, head straight, chin forward so they don’t choke on their tongue…"

 _Thank you_ , Cecil thought at Earl as hard as he could.

Maybe he imagined it, but he thought he felt something like  _any time_  in Earl’s eyes. 

Cecil remained perfectly still as Earl demonstrated the chest compressions and rescue breaths, his mouth hovering a friendly couple of inches over Cecil’s face.

"Very good, boys," Scoutmaster Qiu. "But that breathing technique isn’t going to help anyone, Harlan. How about you demonstrate for us?"

Earl froze, his face as red as his hair. “What?”

"One of the things people always get wrong is the breathing technique. Remember, rescue breathing is about saving a life, not being comfortable. Now show us what you’ve got." 

"I— er— yes, sir." Earl leaned over Cecil, swallowing again, and Cecil caught his eye. 

 _I’m sorry about this,_  Earl seemed to say. 

 _Don’t worry about it,_  Cecil thought back at him. He wasn’t sure if the message got through, but Earl kept going, lips meeting lips.

And it wasn’t unpleasant or anything. It was actually… kind of nice. Earl had soft lips. And his breath tasted… good, in Cecil’s mouth, filling him up. Experimentally, Cecil flicked his tongue out, snatching a better taste of Earl, and the other boy froze like he’d been electrocuted. 

"That was a good try," Scoutmaster Qiu said. "But it looks like that technique was more Hollywood than the Scouting Manual. Boys, you two can sit down. Teddy, Steve, you’re up!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous:
> 
> Cecearlos! Cecil showing Earl (on Carlos) how many knots he remembers. Earl correcting Cecil. Carlos straining against the ropes. Earl guiding (domming?) Cecil over Carlos.

Carlos had never really considered the sex appeal of insects caught in a spider’s web. It was just… not something you thought about outside of Night Vale. Or in Night Vale, for that matter. 

Yep, that was pretty weird even in Night Vale.

But here he was, splayed wide across the bed, his outstretched arms and legs tied in a complicated pattern of colorful nylon rope, each limb connected to the two adjacent by nearly a dozen knots. Cecil knelt over his hips, the spider of this metaphorical web, grinding into him with every knot he tied. And Cecil was still going.

"The bottle sling knot," he murmured, wrapping an electric-orange cord around Carlos’ wrist. Carlos couldn’t move his hand more than a few inches in any direction, but he brushed his fingers against Cecil’s hand. The touch sent a shiver down Cecil’s spine— Carlos could feel it grinding against his dick. 

"Not quite." Another hand brushed Carlos’ as Earl leaned down to correct him. "You missed a turn there." He untied the rope at the wrist. "Do it again. Do it right." He drew his fingers delicately up Cecil’s bare arm, rising to cradle his face. "Do it right, and you’ll get another reward." 

Cecil bit his lip— somehow that was even more gorgeous from this angle— and nodded, returning his attention back to the rope. 

"How are you doing, Carlos?" Earl asked, drawing the monkey’s fist from between Carlos’ teeth. 

"Good," Carlos rasped. "Fantastic." 

"Sounds like you could use some water." Earl bent low, kissing Carlos’ forehead before he brought the glass of water back to his lips. 

Because unlike conventional spiders, these two had absolutely no intention of completely draining the fly in their web.

Even though they were determined to suck him dry. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous:
> 
> So, as an Earl week prompt, could you please do something about them as teens, after a point where Earl's confessed, and Cecil turned him down as gently as possible,( because they're best friends, and Cecil wouldn't be malicious about it) that they're hanging out, going for ice cream or something, and Earl is kind of sad, but he's not guilting Cecil or anything, but Cecil still feels bad and they're both super nervous and kind of awkward about it but trying to still be best friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the full effect, this is the song I was listening to while writing this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9ZIXcEa3WE

There are things that Cecil knew, ever since he started interning at the radio station.

Things that Earl didn’t know Cecil knew. Things he really shouldn’t ever learn. But he would, eventually (Cecil knew this, too)— though hopefully long enough from now that he wouldn’t put it all together. 

Like how Cecil knew that Earl liked him before Earl said so. How he kept trying to avoid moments that invited physical intimacy, hoping that maybe Earl’s crush would pass on to some other guy— someone who was more deserving of Earl’s feelings, someone who could return them.

Someone who didn’t see Earl as too much of a best friend to ever think of him as a boyfriend.

Earl deserved that. He deserved more than that. He deserved everything. But Cecil couldn’t give that to him. 

He knew he could try— and if he did, it wouldn’t end well. Whatever “something” they could have would eventually turn bitter and cold, and nothing he tried to do could fix it. So he tried to fix it here. Now. 

"So have you made up your mind about baseball next season?" he asked, grabbing a spoonful of blue moon. He’d stopped ordering cones when they went to the White Sand Ice Cream Parlor— he wanted to make things as un-uncomfortable for Earl as possible, and the way he devoured the scoop on the cone was entirely too suggestive.

He knew this.

"Not yet," Earl said.

"You really are good," Cecil continued. "Really good. I’m not kidding— you could make the Spiderwolves when you get out of school."

"Thanks." And Earl tried to smile, he really did. But the expression on his face wouldn’t have fooled Cecil even if he didn’t spontaneously know things these days. The monosyllabic conversation didn’t help, either.

It used to be he could go on for hours, chattering about whatever he’d read about or explored or learned. Half the things Cecil knew came secondhand from Earl, shared during a sleepover or on a hike. Earl wasn’t like the teachers at school— he was  _passionate_. He made things  _interesting_. He genuinely wanted to know about absolutely everything, and he genuinely wanted to share it. He was incredible.

"You’d make a great Scoutmaster, too," Cecil added as an afterthought. 

That got him another smile from Earl— still small, but a little bit closer to genuine. 

"Nah. Thare’s no chance I’d be picked for that."

"Their loss, then," Cecil said, waving his spoon at his friend. "They’d be crazy not to want you."

For a brief moment, Earl’s eyes flashed back to his, and then dropped abruptly to the floor. The moment got awkward again.

Cecil knew what Earl was thinking.

Cecil knew one day they wouldn’t be best friends anymore. That they would drift apart until they barely spoke, and even then, only for work. He knew that one day Earl would look him in the eyes and tell him goodbye and disappear forever, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So he held on to the moment while he still had it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rileywit:
> 
> Ok, so if your still doing the writing prompt, ideas have struck me and I have too many stories in the works to do this myself (And I like your writing) so...Earl and Marcus get trapped out in the desert somehow and have to spend the entire night (or longer) camping. You can probably take it from there. :3

Earl wasn’t going to say “You did this to yourself, you know.” He wasn’t going to take cheap shots like that, not when Marcus was already in such an awkward position. Plenty of people got into very preventable situations, and they still deserved compassion and respect. 

Even if Marcus was being an unbearable jerk at the moment. 

"You all right, Marcus?" Earl asked. The other man had fallen behind. Again.

"Yeah…no. The wi-fi is down. When’s that gonna be fixed?" 

Earl scrubbed a hand down his face. Dear angels that didn’t exist, what had he done to deserve this? “There is no wi-fi, Marcus. We’re in the middle of the desert. There’s not going to be any phone reception, either, so please put your phone away and focus on walking. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” 

"Whatever," Marcus muttered, finally, finally pocketing the damn phone. "I was out of lives on Candy Crush anyway." 

"I’m glad to hear it." 

For another fifteen minutes or so they marched in silence. 

"So. Ernie."

"Earl."

"Whatever. I’m getting a bit thirsty. You got any more water?"

"No, Marcus. You drank it all. That’s why we’re heading to the river, remember?"  _He’s an unfortunate individual who’s suffered a lot of trauma. He needs compassion and understanding. And he would not be better off if I knocked him unconscious, threw him over my shoulder and carried him back to Night Vale. That would be a dishonorable thing to do, and I should be ashamed for thinking it._ "We can follow the canyon back to Night Vale."

"Great. About how long will that take?" 

A well-disciplined Scout could probably make the trek in six hours, give or take. Based on their current pace, though…

"A day. Maybe two."

"Yeah, that’s not gonna work," Marcus said. "I’ve got appointments."

"Well, you’re going to have to cancel them."

The next hour or two weren’t spent in silence, per se, but Earl could tune out Marcus’ grumbling well enough, and eventually the billionaire got too thirsty to continue. 

Thank the Spire for small blessings. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acidtygr:
> 
> Are dirty prompts in? If so, I have one on the theme of the day: Cecil going down on Earl while the scout explains how he got his badges, one by one. Cecil threatening to stop if Earl stops talking. Bonus points for making it Cecearlos!

Earl Harlan could juggle chainsaws. He could perform hospital-grade first-aid blindfolded. He could fucking turn invisible.

What he couldn’t do was keep a train of thought while Cecil was doing  _that_  with his  _tongue_.

"It was—  _augh_ — it was Christmas of our sophomore year. Remember?”

Cecil gave a warm hum in the affirmative, and sweet Masters, the sound vibrated right through him.

“I—  _Gods, Cecil_ — I’d gotten too ambitious with my goals for the year, and then we got that big project, and I was behind in my  _HOLY FUCK_!” His back arched entirely off the bed as Cecil slipped a finger into his entrantrance, finding his prostate with practiced ease.

Just as abruptly as the lightning-sharp pleasure rushed through him, it was gone. Cecil’s hands were firmly on the bed, his mouth tight-lipped and empty.

Earl whined. “Cecil— gods, Cecil, I need you. Please—”

“You know the rules.”

Fuck, Earl was so hard he hurt. “Please don’t leave me like this. I need—” His hand drifted to his cock of its own volition, and Cecil batted it away.

“Not until I get my story, Harlan.”

The Scoutmaster hissed, but he managed to string another few words together. “I… gh— I needed to get two more badges by the end of the year, so I—” Cecil licked a hot stripe down his perenium, and Earl shuddered. “I-camped-out-in-the-living-room-and-waited-for-the-bear!”

“Keep going,” Cecil murmured, sliding down to lap at Earl’s ass.

“I—ah— I caught it by surprise—” he panted, while Cecil worked him open. “So I had the upper hand. But it was one of the bad ones— the government gave it PCP instead of pot, so it was extra orn— ornery.”

Sweet Scouts, there should be a badge for forming coherent sentences while your boyfriend was going down on you.

“Go on,” Cecil commanded.

“All the usual holds weren’t working— the bear didn’t even feel it—” Cecil’s gorgeous mouth wrapped around his cock again. “But I—gh— I managed to get it off balance and I grabbed the ceremonial dagger off the mantel.” And there were still syllables leaving Earl’s mouth, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what they were. The only thing that mattered was the way Cecil swallowed and hummed around him, the way Cecil’s fingers slipped inside and danced on his prostate. Earl was pretty sure he was just listing off individual muscle groups at this point, but he didn’t care he didn’t care he didn’t fucking care everything just felt so good. He was floating, he was falling, he was coming like a drugged government bear down a fucking chimney, and Cecil was swallowing every drop.

Earl threw his head back and tried to catch his breath while Cecil pulled off, grinning like it was Christmas morning. Earl grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close.

“And that’s how I got my Bear Wrestling and Taxidermy merit badges in the same night.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graciemaynot:
> 
> Hi, if you're still taking Earl requests can I make one? Can I get a heroic Earl? Like, Carlos and/or Cecil getting into trouble/accident/Night Vale Oddity and our beloved Scout Master has to save the day. If you can that would be neat.

Carlos’ Hybrid Coupe was a good car. It was sporty, energy-efficient, it had great speakers, and on Thursdays it gained enough sentience to beat him at Scrabble.

But today wasn’t Thursday. And for all the things the Coupe could do, it still couldn’t outrun a fleet of yellow helicopters.

And even if they somehow could, there was nowhere to go: Route 800 was barricaded by yellow-painted police cruisers all the way from Radon Canyon to Marshall’s Gorge, and there was no way Carlos was going to  _Thelma-and-Louise_  this shit. Not today.

“I’m going to break their road block,” Carlos declared through grated teeth.

Cecil glanced nervously at the very large, very sturdy-looking cars that stood between them and the open road. “Do you think we can?”

_No_.

“Worth a shot, don’t you think?” Carlos said, trying to look more confident than he felt.

Maybe the police wouldn’t call his bluff. Maybe they would scatter before he reached them. Maybe his Coupe would spontaneously teleport to Belize at the last second. Maybe when they reached 88 miles-per-hour they would travel through time.

Hell, anything was possible.

He floored it.

The barricade was getting closer: a mile ahead. A half mile. A quarter.

A hundred yards.

They weren’t moving.

Fifty. Twenty.

Carlos whipped the steering wheel sharply to one side, using every factoid he knew about physics to keep the car from flipping over as it shot off to the side. Another breakneck turn and they barely avoided tumbling into the canyon.

Cecil was pitched forward, his knuckles white as he clung to the dashboard, and Carlos kicked open the door.

“Run,” Carlos said. “The helicopters will have a harder time following us if we stick to the walls of the canyon.” He grabbed Cecil’s wrist and took off at a dead sprint toward the sheer drop.

A gunshot split the air.

Another. Another.

Carlos looked over his shoulder. He didn’t feel anything— had they missed him?

Oh god— was Cecil okay?!

He whipped around. “Cecil, Cecil— are you—”

One of the yellow helicopters reeled, twisted, and finally crashed to the ground in a sound like thunder, echoed a hundred times over by the acoustics of the canyon.

Another round of gunshots, and a second helicopter dropped like a stone.

“Carlos.” Cecil’s voice was higher than it should have been. “Carlos, get back in the car right now!”

Carlos followed his boyfriend’s gaze to the canyon.

It was  _crawling_.

The rock face was nearly invisible for the thousands of small bodies crawling, spiderlike, up the cavern wall and across the desert sand. Carlos and Cecil raced back to the car and dove inside, barely locking the door before the children were upon them.

But the children kept going.

They flooded over the sand wastes like a wave, rising upon the barricades and dragging them under. Under what wasn’t a question Carlos felt qualified to answer just now. The yellow helicopters opened fire, but they didn’t get a chance before it was returned. More gunshots split the air, and the sea of children parted just in time for the last of the helicopters to crash in their midst.

This time Carlos saw where the fatal bullets had come from.

A lone figure, strangely tall among the sea of children, an assault rifle cradled in his arms. He gave some signal with one hand and the children froze, every eye turned to him.

The world went deathly, eerily quiet.

The figure turned to face them, pulling the campaign hat from his head.

And then he waved to them and flashed a big, dorky smile.

“Hey, Cecil! I’m back!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musicandteddybears:
> 
> Prompt, you say? For Earl Harlan week. Hmm. Well, I do have a love of Cecearlos (WHICH IS ALL YOUR FAULT AND I LOVE YOU FOR IT, BY THE WAY), so how a movie night, complete with throwing popcorn at each other and the tv screen, snarking about the special effects, and cheesy dialogue. Bonus points for a pillow fight. XD

“This part always bugged me,” Carlos says, pointing at the screen. “When a carriage without  driver comes rolling up to you, most people’s first assumption is going to be that something happened to the driver— not that it’s magically for you.”

“Just because you can’t see the driver doesn’t mean he’s not there,” Earl points out, trying to find a suitable place for the bowl of imaginary popcorn when Cecil is stretched out over his and Carlos’ laps. “They may be invisible.”

“True,” Carlos says, which is progress. A year ago he might have insisted that people turning invisible isn’t normal outside Night Vale, so it didn’t count. “But see, there’s no dialogue with the driver. Even if they are invisible, they clearly never got the driver’s permission to throw all their stuff in the back.”

“That’s just bad manners,” Cecil agrees.

Earl briefly tries laying the bowl on the armrest of the couch (Carlos can’t reach it), on the ottoman in front of it (Cecil’s arms don’t bend that way), on Cecil’s chest (that’s uncomfortable), on his stomach (the bowl bounces and nearly falls over when he speaks). He thinks he’s finally found a spot for it, balanced precariously on Cecil’s hip bone. But while he’s explaining all the reasons why the designated victims really shouldn’t go exploring the obviously dangerous castle by themselves, he reaches for another handful and misses the bowl entirely.

“Why, Earl.” Cecil sits up, propping his elbows on Carlos’ knees. “If you were tired of the movie, you should have said something.”

Earl jerks his hand back, red all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Wait a second— I didn’t mean—”

“Quit it, Cecil,” Carlos chides, grabbing one of the smaller cushions and whapping Cecil upside the back of his head. Cecil falls back with a yelp, and the bowl of popcorn spills across his chest, an invisible, salty, greasy mess.

“No fair!” Cecil grabs a handful of the stuff and throws it at Carlos, who raises his pillow as a shield to ward off the volley.

After that the movie is officially forgotten in favor of a no-holds-barred pillow fight. Carlos swings his little pillow like a sword, Cecil has donned the overturned popcorn bowl like a helmet and is throwing popcorn like they’re caltrops, and Earl has somehow managed to construct a couch-cushion fort while the other two were going at it.

Fifteen minutes later Cecil and Carlos have both ganged up on Earl— or rather, Earl’s got Carlos pinned with his feet while he’s giving Cecil a well-intentioned noogie.

An hour later they’re all sprawled across the now-cushionless remains of the couch, popcorn in their ruffled hair.

There’s a message written to them on the TV, which has been playing the menu screen on repeat for longer than any of them care to remember. The words are written in cheese whiz, courtesy of the Faceless Old Woman.

_A pillow fight? Really?_

_What are you boys, twelve?_

_You are very immature._

At least, that’s what it looks like. The cheese whiz started to run out toward the end there.

“You can call it immature,” Cecil chuckles, reaching for Earl with one hand and Carlos with the other. “I call it foreplay.”

The living room is an absolute mess, but that’s okay.

They’ll clean it off in the morning.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PetrichorsGarden:
> 
> cecil/earl/carlos
> 
> earl and carlos go out of town for some reason, cecil has to stay home. cue things like earl encountering boy scouts, cute phone calls with cecil, homophobic idiots, adventures in the big city. all the usual stuff we get with cecil leaving nightvale but with earl like reactions, phone sex wins brownie points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was meant to get sexy, but it kind of wound up getting away from me toward the end. Have some hurt/comfort instead.

“Earl?” Carlos asks carefully. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fine.” Earl doesn’t sound fine. “A Scout is always prepared. Always. And adaptive. And…” He doesn’t look fine, either. He would be pale as a sheet, but these cheap motel sheets are actually a few shades darker than his complexion at the moment. They don’t look entirely sanitary, either, but some non-Night-Valian germs are the last thing the Scoutmaster needs to worry about.

“Shh, sit,” Carlos commands, and Earl lets himself be pushed onto the creaky mattress. “Of course you’re adaptive. But sometimes adaptation takes a little bit. You need a chance to recalibrate.”

“I don’t want to,” Earl says. “Carlos— the things they were saying about us— about you—” His mismatched eyes are wide and watery. “You should have let me stop them. I could have.”

“I know,” Carlos says gently.

“How dare they act like that— how dare they treat you like that! Such abominable behavior needs to be stopped!” He’s rising off the bed again, and Carlos pushes him gently down, climbing into his lap to keep him there.

“I should have warned you about it. I’m sorry.” He smooths Earl’s hair gently. “I guess I forgot that not every place is as amazing as Night Vale.” Other places also don’t respond to murder and ‘suicide by assholery’ quite as kindly as Night Vale does. The city streets are hard enough on Earl; Carlos doesn’t want to imagine what prison would do to him.

He probably shouldn’t be so surprised when those big arms wrap tight around him, almost hard enough to crush the air from his lungs. Earl stares at him with something that looks like heartbreak and sympathy and awe and anger, crammed into a blender without a lid and left to splash all over the kitchen counter.

“This is normal for you, isn’t it.” It’s not a question. “You’re used to this.” He buries his head in Carlos’ chest, but Carlos can feel bared teeth through his shirt. “You shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t have to be. They shouldn’t dare.”

Carlos hugs him closer, rubbing one arm gently up and down his back. “I’m okay, Earl. I’ve got you and Cecil, and nothing they can say or do is going to change that. I’m going to finish that grant renewal, and then we’re going to go home. We can meet Cecil at the station when he finishes his show, and maybe we can all grab some Big Rico’s together. Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

To be honest, Carlos blames himself a little bit. He knew better, even if he’d forgotten. He should have spoken up when Earl spotted that boy scout troop at the beach, filing out of a van with conspicuously conservative bumper stickers. The mental alarms had started to go off when Earl remarked on their haphazard formation and their conspicuous lack of weapons. They’d been absolutely paralytic by the time the Scoutmaster waltzed up to the master of the local troop, his fingers still laced with Carlos’.

It didn’t end well.

He knows it’s not his fault those kids weren’t raised properly. He knows the cruel things the local scoutmaster said were a disgrace on himself, not on the two of them. But dammit, he feels like he should have done a better job protecting Earl from this sort of thing.

But he didn’t. Now all he can do is comfort and distract, and he’s not even very good at that. It’s entirely Cecil’s strong suit—

Carlos pulls back enough to dig his phone out of his pocket.

“Carlos?” Earl asks. He sounds so timid right now— so unlike the strong man Carlos has come to love.

“Cecil’s show should be over about now,” Carlos explains. “How about we give him a call?”

Earl nods his consent, a bit unsure, and Carlos makes the call, putting it on speaker and setting it on the bedstand.

They don’t say anything to Cecil about the incident with the local scouts. Not yet— not until Earl is ready to talk about it. Instead they hold each other and listen to him chatter about the latest catastrophe in Night Vale, interrupted every few sentences by how much he misses them and how he can’t wait to see them again, and how overwhelmingly, overflowingly in love he is with the two of them.

It doesn’t fix what happened. It doesn’t erase the memories or make the pain go away. But it soothes some of the hurt and pushes it aside until there’s room for something better.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous:
> 
> Are you still doing the drabbles for Earl Harlan week? I am curious about what it is like the first time Carlos meets Earl. Like, if Carlos knows there was maybe a thing going on between Earl and Cecil from the town gossip, or if he is just the local scoutmaster and how Earl reacts to Carlos, after hearing Cecil gush about him on the radio. I think it would just be very interesting. (and awkward. very awkward).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whatever reason, this version of Earl Harlan looks (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31-NAkq8YEY) and sounds (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iZZg2qiBos#t=2435) oddly like Bioshock Infinite’s Booker DeWitt. I only bring it up because I very rarely ever have a face or voice in mind when I write characters. It’s also why Earl is a bit… different from the way I usually portray him.

Carlos had come to Night Vale to do science, not to socialize. But even the most self-reliant scientists couldn’t escape the human need for humanoid interaction, and so he had taken to making small talk with the other people, mostly on supply runs to Ralph’s or his weekly excursions to Big Rico’s. As it turned out, gossip was an excellent way of analyzing and upholding social mores and preparing for upcoming cataclysms.

But one cataclysm it did not prepare him for.

There was only one lane open in the Ralph’s that day. Marcus Vansten had reserved all the self-service counters for himself, and a recent outbreak of puppies had called the remaining staff away from the cash registers. The only remaining employee was a young woman who didn’t yet look old enough to intern at radio station, and who clearly hasn’t been trained to handle the multi-dimensional register very effectively.

He was going to be here for a while.

Oh well. It was as good a time as any to do preliminary research on his next study. Genially he turned to the tall man queued behind him.

Normally at this point the person he turned to would gush and flail, or maybe hiss good-naturedly, or leer with eyes that could gaze into the abyss and not be stared back at.

This man merely studied him, utterly unimpressed.

“Hello,” the scientist said. “I’m Carlos.”

“So I’ve heard,” the other man said.

Normally Carlos wasn’t one to believe in ‘vibes’, but he did believe in subliminal registry of microexpressions and pheromones. The way this man looked at him made the hairs on his neck stand on edge.

“So,” he said, if only to avoid turning his back on the stranger. “What’s your name?”

“Harlan.”

“Oh.”

Well. That explained the metaphorical chill in the air.

Carlos hadn’t been able to escape people gushing about Cecil Palmer and his ridiculous crush, and it was only natural to hear about the radio host’s last love and childhood best friend. A Mr. Steve Carlsberg had gone into a considerable amount of detail on Earl Harlan’s accomplishments and certifications, namely with an impressive array of weapons. At the time Carlos had been thinking that Steve Carlsberg had been exaggerating.

Now he was sorry he’d ever doubted him.

Earl Harlan was tall and broad-shouldered, with stocky ropes of muscles running down every limb and weapons belts criss-crossing across his chest.

The NRA said that guns didn’t kill people, but Carlos really wasn’t ready to find out for sure.

“Line’s moved,” Harlan grunted.

Carlos swallowed. “That’s okay. Y-you go ahead.”

That look again: expectant and thoroughly unimpressed. Obediently Carlos scooted forward in the line.

Maybe there was still time to claim he’d forgotten to grab a gallon of milk. He could duck out of the line and come back after Earl Harlan had checked out.

On second thought, the thought of  the larger man following him out of public view made him queasy.

He needed to diffuse this situation before it had the chance to escalate. Fast.

“Listen, about Cecil.”

Harlan’s expression hardened.

“I— er— um— I don’t want you to think I’ve been leading him on or anything. I came here to do science. That’s it. Really. I’m not looking for a relationship right now, and I hope I haven’t done anything to give him the wrong idea, but— um—”

Harlan’s eyes narrowed. “Line’s moved.”

Carlos backed another few steps closer to the register.

“Are we… okay?” Carlos squeaked.

“Let me make something clear.” A powerful hand snatched the lapels of Carlos’ labcoat and dragged him close. “Cecil is a grown man, and he’s capable of making his own decisions. Anything that goes on between you and him is between you and him. Not me. Not fucking Carlsberg. Not the rest of Night Vale. You and him. You forget that for one second, and you’ll regret it.”

Carlos inched back as far as he could, still tethered to the other man by his coat. He tried not to cower. He really did. “What are you going to do?” he whispered.

Just as quickly as he’d grabbed him, Harlan released him, and Carlos stumbled into a display of gluten-free candy bars.

“Absolutely nothing. I won’t need to.” He turned his stony stare to the register. “Now get moving. You’re holding up the line.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to prompt me, you can find me at http://thief-in-the-dark.tumblr.com/


End file.
